Billet-Doux
by Faikitty
Summary: Love letters are romantic, but not when they are anonymous, and especially not when they are sent to Akari. Hirato/Akari. Request of sorts.


**A/N:** A million apologies for my silence lately. As most of you know, I've started college and it's, ah, taken a bit of a toll on me to say the least. I follow in the footsteps of all of the best writers by not being the most emotionally stable. I managed to get this done by around 4AM, and that says a lot about my sleeping habits these days too. In any case, like I said, it's currently 4AM so you'll have to excuse any typos. Also, I make no promises as to when I'll write another fic. I promise to sometime, I just... don't know when "sometime" is.

Also, if you'd like, I might be persuaded to write another chapter for this. I have some ideas in my head, but nothing solid yet.

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* * *

The three rhythmic knocks at his door are what wake him, but at this point, they hardly make him stir. Akari can't be bothered to rise, not until the light starts to creep through his window and in comes the fear of a subordinate—or worse still, Hirato or Tsukitachi—finding the note that he _knows_ is just outside his door.

Sliding on slippers and buttoning up a nightshirt, he cracks open the door and kneels down to grab the letter, lying there just as he knew it would be. It's the same as all of the others, marked with a red wax seal with a diamond print, a seal he hasn't seen anywhere but on these damned letters that appear night after night. By its side is, as always a single red rose. He shuts his door harder than necessary, turning, striding over to his nightstand, and opening the drawer to reveal ten other letters.

Akari rolls the rose between his fingers, flinching when a poorly situated thorn slices open his thumb. He sets it in the vase of water atop the nightstand where the other roses stand; he's been trained for so long to maintain life that even cut roses need to be cared for.

The letter, however, is a different story, and he tears open the envelope without much thought to its contents. A drop of blood blurs a few words, but he already knows what it will say.

Sure enough, it reads:

_Today I watched as you drank tea. Please do not mistake me for a stalker; once my eyes landed on you, I was unable to pull them away. Under ordinary circumstances, I would like to go up and talk to you, to have your gaze on my face rather than on your book. But something in me was unable to bear to pull you away from your peace. Still, you were so very beautiful in your self-absorption, and the shade of the tea matched the color of your eyes, as lovely as always._

_Tomorrow will be the last._

_Tch_. Akari tosses the letter in the drawer, pausing only for a brief second to ponder exactly _why_ he's saving the notes in the first place. He doesn't like the implications of that thought, so it gets pushed to the back of his mind for him to mess with some other time. He's loathe to think of what tomorrow will bring, given the promise that it will be the final one.

A dozen roses and a dozen notes.

He supposes it's romantic, but romance is far from his forte.

* * *

He's successful in keeping away all thoughts of the love letters during his surgeries, far more focused on keeping his patients alive than any romantic endeavor. At this point, surgery is a sort of therapy for him, something to let him relax and focus only on the dire need of the person lying in front of him. Unfortunately, when all emergency procedures are finished for today and all that remains are minor tasks that are passed down to subordinates, he no longer has anything to distract him.

What is the point of such roundabout methods? If someone is interested in him, they ought to approach him outright. The worst that can happen is for him to say no, which will _definitely_ happen if this mysterious admirer comes forth. Akari runs his fingers through his hair and squeezes his eyes shut, unsure if he's more frustrated with himself or with his anonymous lover.

A knock on his door breaks his thoughts, and Hirato limps in a few seconds later. While it's not really the sort of distraction Akari had in mind, this time he'll take it.

Neither man speaks at first. Akari merely observes, noting the careful way Hirato stands with all but a little of his weight on his right leg. His left toes touch the ground but nothing more, his entire air defensive and not unlike a wounded animal.

"May I sit?" Hirato asks with enough irritation in his voice that most of Circus would flee if they heard it. But Akari just nods at the leather chair in front of him and continues to watch as Hirato gingerly picks his way over to the chair and slides into it with a deep sigh.

Akari kneels at Hirato's feet, carefully lifting the other man's injured leg and pressing around his bruised and swollen ankle. "I know I shouldn't ask, but I _am_ curious," Akari comments as he works to find the exact location of the injury. "You don't often come to me with injuries. As far as I know, there hasn't been any sort of fight lately."

"I—" Hirato's fingers dig into the arms of the chair as the doctor prods an especially tender spot. "I wasn't in any sort of fight. This is a result of… my own carelessness. I'm afraid I wasn't thinking too clearly about the repercussions of walking around in the dark."

Akari snorts and places his hands on Hirato's foot. "Tell me when this hurts," he orders, moving the captain's foot in various directions. A quiet hiss from Hirato is, naturally, the only response when in pain, and Akari releases Hirato gently. "'Tell me' doesn't mean 'hiss at me' like some sort of cat. Why on earth were you wandering around in the dark to begin with?"

Hirato smirks. "Making my way back from a lover's room, of course," he explains with far too much sarcasm and false pride for Akari to believe a word.

The doctor raises his hands by his head. "Well, it's not as if knowing the real reason for your nighttime expeditions will help me treat a sprain, nor do I really even _want_ to know, I think." Akari starts to turn, but Hirato grabs his hand.

"You're hurt too," he says, looking up at the other man with one eyebrow raised.

Akari pulls his hand away and rubs at the bandaid on his thumb. "Hardly. I was cut by a rose; a gift from a lover," he says flatly, and he can't help noticing how Hirato's eyes narrow at that.

Now that's something Akari would rather not think about. Instead, he heads to a shelf full of plastic boxes and rummages through one, eventually pulling out a black splint. He holds it out to Hirato. "Alternate ice and heat and wear this. Come back in if it gets worse or if you have any sort of numbness or tingling. I would give you crutches, but we both know you won't use them even if I do."

Hirato's fond smile at those words makes Akari's breath catch in his throat, a certain light in the captain's eyes that makes Akari wonder if this is always how he looks at him. "You know me well," he agrees softly, and the doctor tugs his gaze away at last. Hirato chuckles and takes the splint from the other man's hands. "Thank you, my dear Akari-san."

Akari returns to his original seat at his desk and starts shuffling through papers that have already been filed. "No 'thank you's; this is my job, after all."

Hirato tilts in head and stands, making his way over the door and leaning against the frame. "Still. Thank you." He turns to leave then glances back over his shoulder. "And I must apologize. I suppose that with my injury, I won't be able to keep my promise and give you the last note tonight." With that, he steps out and closes the door behind him.

Akari makes a noncommittal noise. Then the words reach him, and he looks up with a jolt just in time to see the door shut. "Wha—"

He shakes his head roughly and stays firmly seated. There must be some other explanation, some note Hirato was supposed to give Akari that the blonde just forgot about. Hirato is _not_ the one responsible for the love letters outside his door. Preposterous.

But… he wouldn't really mind if it _was_ Hirato either.


End file.
